Category: Discerning the will and action of God in our lives

Open the Doors

The church is the house of God.
How long is this going to continue?
When will the doors be open?
Why can’t we celebrate?
I need communion.
I need to be in touch. I can’t keep going if I’m always shut out.
Social distancing doesn’t mean no contact or relations, just not unwittingly harming one another.
For God’s sake, I need to find peace and joy, pardon and love. That’s why I go to church!

“Do you not know that you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?” (1 Co 3:16).
How long is this going to continue?
When will your doors be opened?
Why can’t we celebrate?
I need communion.
I need to be in touch. I can’t keep going if I’m always shut out.
Social distancing doesn’t mean no contact or relations, just not unwittingly harming one another.
For God’s sake, I need to find peace and joy, pardon and love. That’s why I go to you!

“I give you a new commandment: love one another. As I have loved you, so you also should love one another.” (Jn 13:34)
That means that I must do my very best to love all those with whom I am in communication.
That means that I must strive to love all those who relate to me.
That means that I must try to love all those whose lives cross the path of mine.
That means that I must be open to loving all those who seek to enter my life.
I wonder if the new commandment implies that as we have loved one another, so God will love us? (I hope not!)

It’s prudent right now that we should avoid large assemblies, including ones in church.
We don’t want to endanger the lives of others by unknowingly infecting them with something that can harm. And, we don’t want to be endangered by others who unknowingly may infect us with something that can harm.
But, for God’s sake, it’s not prudent at all — it even goes against all that we aspire to be and do, not to mention the commandment of the Lord — to avoid contact with and shut out of our lives all those who come to us in want and need.
I can live with the church doors shut, but I can’t live with the doors of your heart shut.
For God’s sake, I can’t live without peace and joy, pardon and love. That’s why I go to you!

“When the Son of Man comes . . . he will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.’ Then the righteous will answer him and say, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? When did we see you ill or in prison, and visit you?’ And the king will say to them in reply, ‘Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.’” (Mt 25: 31, 34-40).

10 May 2020

(Available in
Spanish translation)

Abra las Puertas

La iglesia es la casa de Dios.
¿Cuánto tiempo va a continuar esto?
¿Cuándo estarán abiertas las puertas?
¿Por qué no podemos celebrar?
Me hace falta la comunión.
Necesito estar en contacto. No puedo continuar si siempre estoy excluido.
Distanciamiento social no significa ningún contacto o relaciones, solo no sin querer hacer daño el uno al otro.
Por el amor de Dios, necesito encontrar paz y alegría, perdón y amor. ¡Por eso voy a la iglesia!

“¿No sabe ustedes que son templo de Dios, y que el Espíritu de Dios habita en ustedes?” (1 Cor 3:16).
¿Cuánto tiempo va a continuar esto?
¿Cuándo estarán abiertas tus puertas?
¿Por qué no podemos celebrar?
Me hace falta la comunión.
Necesito estar en contacto, No puedo continuar si siempre estoy excluido.
El distanciamiento social no significa ningún contacto o relaciones, solo no sin querer hacer daño el uno al otro.
Por el amor de Dios, necesito encontrar paz y alegría, perdón y amor. ¡Por eso voy a ti!

“Les doy este mandamiento nuevo: que se amen unos a otros como yo los he amado. Sí, ámense unos a otros.” (Jn 13:34)
Eso significa que debo hacer mi mejor esfuerzo para amar a todos aquellos con los que estoy en la comunicación.
Significa que debo esforzarme por amar a todos los que se relacionan conmigo.
Significa que debo tratar de amar a todos aquellos cuyas vidas se cruzan en mi camino.
Significa que tengo que estar abierto a amar a todos que buscan entrar en mi vida.
Me pregunto, ¿si el nuevo mandamiento implica que como nos hemos amado unos a otros, Dios nos amará? (¡Espero que no!)

Es prudente en este momento que evitemos grandes asambleas, incluidas las de la iglesia.
No queremos poner en peligro la vida de otros al infectarlos sin saberlo con algo que pueda dañar. Y, no queremos estar en peligro por otros que sin saberlo pueden infectarnos con algo que pueda dañar.
Pero, por el amor de Dios, no es prudente en absoluto — va en contra de todo lo que aspiramos a ser y hacemos, sin mencionar el mandamiento del Señor —evitar el contacto y dejar fuera de nuestras vidas a todos los que vienen a nosotros en deseo y necesidad.
Puedo vivir con las puertas de la iglesia cerradas, pero no puedo vivir con las puertas de tu corazón cerradas.
Por el amor de Dios, no puedo vivir sin paz y alegría, perdón y amor. ¡Por eso voy a ti!

“Cuando el Hijo del Hombre venga . . . dirá a los que están a la derecha: Bendecidos por  mi Padre, vengan a tomar posesión del  Reino que está preparado para ustedes desde el principio del mundo. Porque tuve  hambre y ustedes me alimentaron; tuve sed y ustedes me dieron de beber. Estuve sin hogar y ustedes me recibieron en su casa. Estuve falto de ropas y me vistieron. Estuve enfermo y fueron a visitarme. Estuve en la cárcel y me fueron a ver.
Entonces los buenos preguntarán: Señor, ¿cuándo te vimos hambriento y te dimos de comer; sediento y te dimos de beber, o sin hogar y te recibimos, o sin ropa y te vestimos, enfermo, o en la cárcel, y te fuimos a ver? El rey responderá: En verdad, les digo que cuando lo hicieron con algunos de estos mis hermanos más pequeños, lo hicieron conmigo.” (Mt 25: 31, 34-40) .

(Una traducción del inglés)

10 de mayo de 2020

Veni, Vidi, Vici

“I came, I saw, I conquered!” Probably this is the shortest report on a successful military campaign ever written (Julius Caesar, to the Senate of Rome, 47 BC).
It could easily be accommodated as a short report by Thomas the apostle on the resurrection (cf. the Gospel reading for the Second Sunday of Easter): “I came, I saw, I believed!”
Perhaps Thomas’s report could serve as a short report about each of our lives:
– I came (to know Christ through his disciples),
– I saw (his love and mercy in them), and
– believed (and lived my life accordingly).
But, is that our report? Is it a good summary description to date of the ongoing campaign and struggle of our lives? Are we clear sighted, do we really see? Is ours a victory story—or is the battle still raging?
They called him Doubting Thomas, because even with the unanimous testimony of all of his closest friends and colleagues, he wouldn’t, couldn’t believe their excited reports that they had seen the risen Jesus.
To be brutally honest, it makes sense. Put yourself in his shoes:
– Dead people don’t come back to life—but it’s understandable that love and desire can blind even your best friends to facts and logic.
– Delusional thinking isn’t just a personal peculiarity—even groups can succumb to it, whether family, neighborhoods, tribes, or nations.
– You have to think with your head and feel with your heart, not vice-versa. God gave us capacities to love strongly and to think clearly, but there’s no virtue in mixing them up.
– To use a tired contemporary phrase, isn’t this a good example of “Fake News”? Everybody saying what they want to be true doesn’t make it true.

Sure, that all makes sense—but we’re still faced with what seems to be too good to be true! (What a weird expression—how can something be “too good to be true”? The degree of goodness has nothing to do with veracity.
Just because everybody “believes” something doesn’t make it true—but the clear and uncontested testimony of more than one eyewitness is still a commonly accepted standard for judgement.
When Thomas saw Jesus with his own eyes, he believed—actually, he didn’t “believe,” he “knew.” I wonder how many people to whom he gave his testimony in the ensuring years believed him?
Anyway, as far as you and I are concerned, let’s think critically and have no delusions, but let’s not forget to trust in the proven testimony of witnesses, even if we’ve never had their experience.
Let’s not cling to past events, and experiences, and religious practices as though they are unalterable and deny the possibility of new ones.
Caesar didn’t win his victories by clinging to the proven tactics and strategies of the past. New enemies may mean new challenges and demand new solutions. He did it. He came and saw what needed to be done, and he did it. He reported victory!
Thomas brought Gospel tidings all the way to southern India. He “conquered” with new language, new tactics, new strategies—and brought Good News.
Our campaign is not over yet, no matter what—so God speed with your life, eyes and heart wide open, and trust in all the testimonies of the love and mercy of God.


19 April 2020

Facing Death

Much of Holy Week, especially Passion (Palm) Sunday and Good Friday, is overwhelming about death—the final suffering and death of Jesus.
Much of recent weeks for all of us has been overwhelmingly about death—the danger of death from the rapidly spreading Coronavirus.
These days we can’t help but think about the possibility our own death or that of family and friends; it’s not quite like our familiar and somewhat accustomed reflection about the death of the Lord.
We believe, we know that Holy Week has a happy ending, that Jesus triumphed over sin and death, and was resurrected—and that he opened a way to the fulness of life for all of us.
We know that, we believe that, we’re consoled by that—and, to be honest, deadly honest, even so we’re still scared.
You know, if you could have been conscious and reflective in the first stage of your life—in your mother’s womb—it might well have been the same:
Imagine, the only world you know is the womb: you’re comfortable, secure, warm, nourished, and loved—but you’re growing and developing, outgrowing the comfortable but increasingly more confining place where you live.
Then a terrible, disruptive, and painful process begins—you’re being forced out of the only world you know, and you had no experience of anything “outside” this comfortable world of yours.
You’re being born!
In this second stage of our lives, we’re somewhat like the story of the two caterpillars comfortably munching on a leaf of their tree as a beautiful butterfly flew very close to where they were. One said to the other, “You’ll never get me up in one of those things!”

Like it or not, sooner or later we must face another birth-like change in our lives—another disruptive, and painful process of being forced out of the world we know, with no experience of anything “outside” of it.
In faith, this experience isn’t a termination, but a transition. It’s a doorway; it’s a pass that lets us cross the mountain chain; it’s being born again—this time into eternal life.
In Medieval Europe, a popular theme of sermons and illustrations was the Dance of Death. Death was personified as a grim reaper, scythe in hand, who called high and low, rich and poor, to their fate.
I remember seeing a cartoon-like version of this in a magazine. Death was portrayed as skeleton-like dark figure. Each page was Death coming for a different kind of person.
For example, the farmer begged him to wait, so he could first harvest his crops—the lawyer urged him to delay, till his last case was tried—the blacksmith asked for time to finish his last forging.
The last visit was entitled, “Death Comes for the Little Child.” It showed the ominous figure of death reaching out toward the child—who gleefully ran towards him, shouting, “I know you!”
The following page showed the child ripping away what turned out to be a mask from the face of death to reveal his true identity. It was the Lord!
We believe that facing death is not facing destruction and total termination—it’s about facing the ultimate stage of our lives.
How do we know that? We don’t “know” it; we trust! We entrust ourselves to the loving God who made us, is always with us, guides us, and invites us to the fulness of life.


5 April 2020

In Him We Live . . .

In St. Paul’s speech at the Aeropagus, he spoke of “The God who made the world and all that is in it . . . he who gives to everyone life and breath and everything . . . he is not far from any one of us . . .” And he added, quoting, probably, Epimenides of Kenossos, “For In him we live and move and have our being . . .” (Acts 17: 24-28)
These ten words express very simply what philosophers over the centuries have been wrestling with and trying to understand, the marvel and the mystery of existence, of everything and everyone.
Existence is not a kind of historical event but an on-going, dynamic reality. We exist, not because God at one point in time did create us, but because our very continuing to exist is due to the continuing creating, sustaining power and action of God—what can be described as his love
Although some would dispute it, this is actually not a personal belief or an act of faith, the trusting acceptance of someone else’s testimony, witness, or teaching—it is a fact, a fundamental reality.
Whether we say “God” or “Higher Power” or use any other word or concept to explain it, the fact that everything and everyone are existing requires a currently operative cause greater than any and all of its effects.
As Mr. Spock of Star Trek might say, this is logical. It’s not a matter of opinion but of knowledge. Just because I cannot see ultraviolet or infrared radiation does not mean they don’t exist—but it does mean my vision has limitations.
The knowledge and awareness of the dynamic reality of existence has some equally logical implications:
To want or try to terminate our own existence or that of any other is, in effect, to want or try to thwart the action and will of God—alas, Hamlet, but “To be or not to be” is not our question to decide.

– Whether we know or are aware of it or not, we are inseparable from God; we remain connected no matter what we may think, desire, say, or do—“sin” and “evil” are not quite so powerful as we may think.
– Human growth, maturation, and development necessarily involve our discernment of the ongoing designs of our creator and our fidelity to and harmony with them —I can’t “gotta be me” all by myself.
– Since we are of God and in God, everything about our existence is essentially good and is only made less so because of our own choices and decisions—it’s a cop-out to claim, “The devil made me do it.”
– Deviations from the divine plan because of our ignorance are understandable—only God is perfect—but deviations because of our willfulness are short-sighted, stupid, and self-destructive—they’re “My bad.”
– Joy, gladness, celebration, and thanksgiving are the most appropriate reactions to our awareness that “In him we live and move and have our being.”
In 1974, an interesting science-fiction teleplay was shown on TV, “The Questor Tapes.” It was about a scientist who was planning to create an android called Questor but never completed his work. His interns, following his written instructions, assembled the android and activated it with memory tapes that he had left them, but some were damaged. Questor realized that he lacked some essential knowledge, the purpose of his existence, and had to seek it.
The story is a provocative, moving parable about everyone’s quest for this same essential knowledge, the meaning and purpose of his or her own existence.


21 July 2019

Varieties of Religious Experience

In his Gifford lectures of 1901-1902, the psychologist William James explored “the religious propensities of man.” They were later published as The Variety of Religious Experience: A Study in Human Nature.
Theologians also study the variety of religious experiences of human beings, but take into account the divine actions which necessarily are involved in them.
“In him we live and move and have our being.” No one’s experience can be entirely unrelated to God and may even be specially influenced by the promptings of his Spirit.
A person’s religious experience is also shaped by many other factors—his or her personality type, culture, language, education, health, and the time and place in which he or she lives. That’s why such an experience could range, for example, from seeing a vision to having a new idea.
Every person is unique, no matter how many similarities he or she may have to another. Accordingly, every person’s religious experience is unique, no matter how many similarities it may have to the religious experience of another.
Some religious experiences are subtle and hardly noticed; others are dramatic and life changing. The Bible relates many stories of special religious experiences—for example, Jacob’s dream, Moses and the burning bush, young Samuel’s voice in the night, the annunciation to Mary, the call of Matthew, the conversion of Paul.
When Martin Luther King said, “I’ve been to the mountaintop,” he was alluding to his personal, life-changing experience of God that sustained him for the rest of his life’s journey, as did the experience of Moses.
Sometimes key religious experiences involve extraordinary tranquility and beauty; they can also be disruptive, painful, and difficult. If God and his actions were easily comprehensible, God wouldn’t be God!

It’s hard to generalize about the nature of religious experiences, but, as some spiritual writers observe, often in the early stages of one’s religious development they are characterized by “sensible consolations”—positive and pleasurable thoughts and feelings, something like falling in love with God.
As we grow and mature, the overwhelming attractiveness of the initial experience is gradually tempered, as choice and commitment gradually deepen a relationship which may have begun with more strong feelings and pleasure.
Discerning the action of God in our lives at the time it happens is very difficult. Usually it’s only in retrospect that we become aware of it and appreciate it—just as looking forward on a ship in motion it may seem very slow, but looking backward at the ship’s wake makes you realize how far and how fast it has been traveling.
There’s an often quoted Portuguese proverb, “God writes straight with crooked lines. My favorite understanding of it is something like this: we often choose a way, a direction, a purpose that we think is right and what God wants—but then we are disappointingly and frustratingly blocked and thwarted and have to strike out in a new direction.
The process may keep repeating itself as gradually we’re herded by God into the direction he really wants us to go—even though almost every stage of the journey may have its painful failures, dead ends, and requirements of mid-course corrections.
We necessarily again and again may need to revise, redirect, and reconstruct our lives.


16 June 2019

Split Personality

It’s not a pathology, but there is a dual aspect to the life of a priest—he is both a man of God and a man of the church.
The vocation to priesthood itself has this same dual aspect—the priest candidate is called both by God and by the church.
During my college days, I wrestled long and hard with whether God was calling me to be a priest. My problem was whether I was good enough for such a job. Could I be a man of God? It took me a long time to acknowledge to myself that with the grace of God it could be possible.
Later, in the major seminary the call of the church was much simpler and easier. I was invited, called to enter the clerical state—the “civil service” of the church—by the seminary authorities through the ceremony of tonsure. Subsequent calls to receive minor and then major orders with successive ceremonies of ordination culminated in priesthood.
Fidelity to these two calls and these two commitments is a constant challenge and a continuing vital tension for any priest.
To be a man of God means to be a holy, a sacred or “separated” person, not living by worldly values or ways. (In the Western Church, this is understood to involve a renouncement of marriage and family by a permanent commitment to celibacy.)
To be a man of the church means to be a public officer of the institutional church with a certain degree of authority and responsibilities for leadership, teaching and administration.
Faithfulness to the promptings of the Spirit may strain the priest’s relations with the community he serves or with ecclesiastical authorities.
Conversely, the priest’s solidarity with the local Christian community or ecclesiastical authorities may conflict with the promptings of the Spirit.

It’s not an “either-or” but a “both-and” situation. God spare us from a priest who serves people and institutions well, but not the Lord! And, a good priest may be considered a holy man, but he can’t neglect carrying out effectively the responsibilities of public office in the church.
An often neglected aspect to responding to the call of God is that it is a continuing, never-ending challenge of discernment. It’s not that God changes his mind but that his plan for us may have many twists and turns, up and downs, and successes and failures (due to our blindness, deafness, and insensitivity to his providential action in our lives).
The call of the church generally presumes a “death till us part” type of commitment-unless, of course, the priest is disabled, retired, or severely disciplined by a kind of discharge or “reduction to the lay state.”
But, the call of God isn’t quite the same. For sure, our response to the call of God must be a forever commitment—but from the merely human point of view it can appear very changeable indeed. Even if it involves walking through the valley of the shadow of death, it’s still the way to go.
The church may limit or revoke its call to serve, but, as the gospel hymn says, “I have decided to follow Jesus, no turning back, no turning back.”
When all is said and done, the real issue for the priest—or anybody—is not duality but priority.
No matter how unexpected the promptings of the Spirit—whether leading us into or out of ministry or anywhere else—no turning back!

12 May 2019
(Developed in part from
“Guru vs. Cleric” published in
CNEWA World, 28:4, July 2002)

Discerning Callings

Here’s how the dictionary defines it:

Calling:  1. the action of one that calls. 2. one’s occupation, profession, or trade.  3. an inner urging toward some profession or activity; vocation.

If that’s what it can mean, then in one sense or another everybody has a calling. But, when we use its Latin-rooted synonym “vocation” it sounds more specialized, limited, and God-related as in vocation to the priesthood or the religious life.
In the Bible, there are stories of people experiencing divine intervention and being explicitly called and invited to a life work—think of Abraham, Moses, the boy Samuel, and the apostles.
More often, though, the direct action of God in our lives is experienced in the form of an inner urging and/or particular life events and circumstances.
The process of discernment—figuring out how to interpret these growing inner urgings and events of our lives—can be very challenging. Is what we experience a direct action of God? If the calling is from God, is it to a general style of life or a particular occupation or profession?
When eventually we chose a particular occupation or profession, is it mostly because it’s attractive to us, because we feel that God is calling us to it, attractive or not, or because of both?
After making a decision and commitment, what is an appropriate response if the very nature, responsibilities, public regard, and our satisfaction with the chosen occupation or profession changes?
And, to add a more contemporary challenge to the mix, what if our continual process of discernment leads to the conviction that God is calling us to leave a particular occupation or profession and embrace another?

One of the characteristics of modern society is an increasing movement away from permanency, whether it refers to where we live, the job we have, the social class we belong to, the nationality we possess, the values we adhere to, the spouse we chose, even the gender we identify with.
Change of itself is not necessarily good or bad, but it can be challenging, sometimes painful, and often difficult. Growth and maturation involve change, development and evolution involve change, divine intervention involves change—and so do revolutions, wars, disasters, tragedies, and betrayals.
So, whether we choose the changes of our lives or endure them, we have to learn to let go of one thing so we can accept another—and usually more often then we expect. To live means to change; when we are totally fixed and changeless, we’re dead.
For the one who feels that God is calling and is disposed to listen attentively, beware. St. Paul, referencing the words of the prophet Isaiah, voiced the challenge of understanding some the actions of God for they include “What eye has not seen, and ear has not heard, and what has not entered the human heart…” (1 Co 2:9)
Everyone has a calling, a calling from God. Most people experience this call as an inner urging towards a certain style of life or activity; some, even towards a particular occupation or profession. The continuing challenge is discerning whether what we think is of God really is.
Wrestling with “To be or not to be” is a continuing aspect of everyone’s life. For Hamlet it was about life or death. For all of us it’s about really living or gradually dying.


14 April 2019

Surviving Vatican II

I don’t belong to any survivors’ network. In fact, I don’t even know if there is one that I can join. But, I am a survivor — a survivor of the Second Vatican Council.
By now, most of the people who attended the Second Vatican Council have gone on to their eternal reward. The council met annually from 1962 through 1965. Any bishop who attended the council would have to be now about 80 or older; any priests or lay experts would have to be now around 70 or older.
I had a very minor role in the council, as a kind of administrative assistant during the second (1963) and third (1964) sessions. It was a great privilege to be able to attend the daily plenary meetings in St. Peter’s Basilica, listen to all the speeches and study all of the working documents.
Above all else, it was an almost tangible experience of the presence and action of the Holy Spirit.
The real survivors of the council are the great ideas, concepts and understandings that were born of the Spirit during those rich and fruitful years and that still perdure and revitalize the church today.
One of the most powerful of them has to do with understanding the very nature of the church itself.
The first draft of what was to become the dogmatic constitution on the church, prepared by experts of the Roman curia in preparation for the opening of the council in October 1962, was among the documents rejected by the council fathers.
A new draft was studied, debated and amended by the council fathers during the fall 1963 council session, and a final text was overwhelmingly approved by the council and promulgated by Pope Paul VI on 21 November 1964.
There was one modest but incredibly significant change made in the text as a result of the 1963 deliberations.

The working draft presented to the council fathers in 1963, referred to the church of Jesus Christ and identified it with the Catholic Church, headed by the Roman Pontiff and the bishops in communion with him.
The draft was amended to introduce an important new concept, “subsists.” It stated that the church of Christ subsists in the Catholic Church, governed by the successor of Peter and the bishops in communion with him.
This one little word unlocked a great door in Catholic theological understanding of the church. It implied a difference, albeit modest, between the church of Christ and the Catholic Church.
This seed notion, regarded as dangerous and almost heretical by many, has born fruit in the great ecumenical advances of the past decades. It has provided a foundation for the many declarations and actions of reconciliation that have blessed the entire church of Christ.
A new chapter of Christian history has opened. The tales of narrowly individual churches — Catholic, Orthodox, Protestant, Evangelical — denouncing the others and denying salvation to all but their own members have begun to fade into the past.
The process still continues. As the council also reminded us, the church of Christ is a pilgrim church, filled with imperfections. Yet it wends its way to the fulfillment of the divine plan, guided by the Spirit.
In spite of the misgivings, setbacks, misunderstandings, prejudices and apprehensions, the new understanding of the church is growing.
It’s a survivor.


(Published as “Survivors” in
one, 35:3, May 2009 )

Unique and Uniquely Limited

If you’ve ever had an itch on your back, you know there are some parts of your body you can’t scratch — there’s no way of reaching them — and you can’t even see them without the help of mirrors.
If we’re that limited with our physical selves, no wonder life is full of instances where there are understandings we can’t reach and aspects of things we can’t see by ourselves.
That’s why we rely so much on the points of view and perspectives of others whether coaches, trainers, counselors, physicians, spiritual directors, teachers, or therapists.
There’s no shame in all of this. It’s simply a matter of capacity. We’re limited in what we’re able to see, understand, or do. For better or worse, that’s the way we are made.
On the other hand, limited though we are, each of us has the potential to reach out to something that no one else can touch, perceive something that no one else can see, or understand something that no one else can quite grasp.
Each of us has experiences — and makes judgments in particular situations — that may be similar to those of others, but they are never entirely the same. Although we’re limited, each of us is also unique.
I think St. Paul may have had this in mind when, writing to the Ephesians, he said that God chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world. Each of us is an irreplaceable and integral component of the divine plan.
Conversely, we can accomplish or understand things working together that no one of us can working separately. Just as, for example, linked multiple batteries are stronger than one and multiple processors compute better than single ones, so a group can achieve things that no member can alone.

Teamwork is a value we usually take for granted in sports, music, research, liturgy, politics, theater, or the military. In practice, we know the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.
Even so, it’s curious and sometimes painful how often, perhaps inadvertently or conveniently, we forget our limitations in some situations, especially in matters of judgment, opinion, or belief.
Remember the story of the blind men trying to describe an elephant? Each touched only one part of its body — skin, leg, tail, ear, trunk, or tusk — and thought then he knew enough to comprehend the nature of the unfamiliar beast.
The story describes each of us. Especially when exploring the unknown, we easily assert that what we see is the complete picture, that what we can understand is the whole story. We forget our limitations — we forget we’re blind.
In the area of physical science, Einstein introduced a principle of relativity. His insight was what we see and grasp is relative to where we stand — and that we affect our observations. Good scientists have a certain humility — they know the limitations of their capacity to understand.
Alas, when it comes to matters of theology or discerning the will of God, scientific humility is often lacking. How arrogantly and dogmatically some religious people claim their truth is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
How much grief we could be spared if only we didn’t forget our limitations and could humbly pool and share the little we discover of the mystery of God and his will.


(Published as “Incapacity” in
one, 32:2, March 2006)